Arcana
by iamsolarflare
Summary: The world is decaying, falling into corruption and darkness by the second, and the brightest heroes can do nothing to stop it. However, it's just possible that someone already touched by the darkness may be able to set things right... given a great deal of luck, of course. ((Contains Youtubers, albeit not well-known ones. T just in case.))
1. Ignesco

The man's been climbing for some time now, and it shows. His jeans are shredded, and the skin below them is rubbed raw. He's a mess, physically and emotionally.

He turns and looks down to the valley far below the mountain, then calls down.

"Hey, C.O.R.E.?"

There's no response.

He groans. "I'm too far up... Maybe he'll woop-woop soon. That'd work."

The man rummages around in his pockets desperately. "Juice... where is it... Goddang, I'm so hungry..."

A small glass phial is extracted from a shining bag, and his eyes glitter happily. "Food at la-"

A piece of rock crumbles under his foot, and as he grasps for the wall his fingers slip from the small container, and it falls to the ground below, shattering and staining the rocks with thick red.

He laughs weakly and runs his fingers through his matted black hair, messing it up further. "Heh... that's ominous-looking all right. Like blood."

He keeps climbing, vertically this time, hands scrabbling at loose pieces of dirt in an effort to increase his height on the mountain. "Hafta... keep going..."

Eventually, he sees a small alcove set into the rocks far above him, and he sighs in relief. "Ah... I just need to get there..."

The man digs his fingers into the cliff, and it yields. His brow furrows.

"Clay..."

He kicks the wall gently, and it too gives to the pressure.

"Haha! Clay, clay! Perfect..."

He digs his sneakers and fingers into the soft material and hauls himself up bit by bit, ignoring the aches in every part of his body.

Eventually, as the sun sets on the mountain for the second time, the man reaches the alcove and gingerly lowers himself into it.

It's about three meters into the cliff, and only a meter thick. An old, rusty chest is set into the floor at the end of the alcove.

"Just needs a few t-touches..."

He rummages in his pockets again, then takes out a small hammer and some nails from his left pocket and several boards from his backpack. With a trembling hand, he boards up the entrance loosely and pounds the nails into the soft clay.

"It'll hold until morning," he mumbles.

He extracts a single, unlit torch from his bag, then places it in the top middle of the left wall. It nearly falls, but he bangs it into the soft clay with a few more nails.

"There... I'll light it later."

The man turns to the chest, then kneels on the ground to open it. Inside, there are a few pieces of coal, a rusted iron blade, and a few scraps of paper with writing and diagrams on them.

His eyes light up, and he reaches for the three papers. "Are these...?"

Scrawled on the papers in neat but loose script are notes and diagrams in an arcane language. From the looks of the illustrations, they appear to be potion recipes.

"Ah. I need that book..."

He gingerly extracts a thick, heavy, and ancient book from his backpack and carefully opens it, then glances at the pages again.

"Pages 33, 37, and 41... go here, here, and here." As he slides in the pages, they bond into the book with brown light, as if they were there all along.

The man sighs. "Three pages down, who knows how many to go... oh well."

He flips through the book in a practiced manner and finally lands on a page bearing a few drawings of torches and other flammable objects, as well as some small text and a single word printed across the bottom of the page in heavy ink.

"Page 307 - that's right. I thought it was that, but I can never remember..."

He stands on his toes to reach the unlit torch, places his hand against the top of it, and takes a deep breath.

"**Ignesco**."

The torch gently bursts into flames.

The man sits down on top of the chest, his back against the clay wall, and begins to doze off as the torch burns warmly and the stars tumble in the sky.

* * *

><p>The next morning, the man is woken up by pangs of hunger. He stands up and stretches, his body making small popping noises as he shakes off the stiffness from his awkward sleeping position, then grins ruefully.<p>

"Oh, that's right - I never had anything yesterday."

He extracts a phial identical to the one that had smashed on the rocks the day before and digs his fingernail under the cork, popping it off into his hand. A slightly metallic smell comes from the juice, and he wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"...Down the hatch."

He opens his mouth, pinches his nose shut, and pours the liquid into his mouth. He grimaces as it hits his tongue, then swallows quickly.

"God, it's gross. Like eating copper. I'm _never_ going to get used to that," he notes to nobody in particular.

The man opens the chest in the floor and stores the coal in his backpack, then carefully picks up the rusted blade and taps it with a finger.

"Dang, I don't think I have anything for removing rust yet..."

He sighs, then taps it again. "Battlea- er, Bax? You there?"

A nervous-sounding voice vibrates down the length of the blade. "I have _never_ been in this pitiful of a weapon in my life, do you realize that?"

He sighs. "Yeah, I know. It's better than nothing, though. I'll find a better one later."

He pries the boards away from the wall and stacks them, along with the nails, in the chest against the wall.

"Shouldn't you take those?" Bax asked, sounding confused.

The man shrugs. "Someone else might need them. That's why I'm leaving the torch too."

Rusty blade at his side and backpack on his back, he exits the alcove and stares up at the mountain peak.

"All right, Bax. Going up."

"This is _such_ a bad idea, and I don't even know what you're doing."

* * *

><p><em><strong>((This is actually a fic featuring my two favorite Youtubers; good luck figuring this guy out, though.<strong>_

_**((Reviews would be nice. Also, try and guess who the man is, I want to see what you think. People that get it will be added to a list, and I'll figure out a reward for it later.**_


	2. Five Days Later

"Sir, I promise you these are flawless emeralds. Why do you insist they're unfit for trade?"

The villager snorts and glares down his nose at the young man. "We don't trade with your kind."

The young man groans, then reaches under his mask to rub his temples. "You're losing a heck of a deal, then."

"We don't trade with your kind," the villager snaps again, then walks away briskly, robes rustling.

The young man just sighs and sits down against a stone wall, fiddling with the blue and purple feathers on his mask. "Ugh, testificates. I could probably make a better business dealing with mobs."

He looks up at the mountain, then shrugs and exits the village, banging the gate loudly behind him,

"Hey! Reginald!"

A zombie with a golden helmet and fairly beaten-up iron sword walks out slightly from behind a tree and nods his head. In response, the masked man gives him a smile.

"There you are."

Reginald stares him down with a slightly reproachful look, then grunts in the language the young man can somehow understand.

"Where are my braaains?"

The masked man sighs. "They had iron golems there, so I couldn't get you any. I'm sure their dead are buried outside the village somewhere, and if we get there soon enough they won't have turned. Does that work?"

Reginald just grunts again, then jerks his head towards a small, other gated area. "'S probably over there."

The young man brightens. "You're right, it probably is. Let's go!"

However, as they approach, it becomes apparent that there is a single place of residence amongst the graves - a modest but beaten-down house. Reginald tips his head to the side, and the masked man frowns.

"Gating someone in with corpses that could turn at any moment seems rather cruel, don't you think?"

An indifferent and slightly high-pitched voice comes from behind them.

"It is. Unfortunately for the others, I find myself quite up to the task."

Reginald and the man turn around to find a ragged-looking villager with dark circles under his eyes standing there, arms loosely crossed.

"Who're you?" the masked man asks in a friendly tone.

"For now, nobody important. You have a Capitol accent," the villager adds calmly. "What brings you out here, especially seeing as a Speaker like you would be wanted in the fray?"

The man looks over at Reginald and jerks his head sharply to the side, indicating the mysterious villager.

"Truth," the zombie finally notes in his archaic tongue.

The man turns back to the villager. "The truth is, we're looking for the book that goes with these pages." He pulls out a carefully folded sheet of paper from his pocket and hands it it to the villager, who takes it, whistles, and then hands it back.

"How many pieces do you have?"

"Six, I think - right?"

Reginald cocks his head to the side in assent.

"Yep, we've got six."

The villager casts a wary glance at the sky, then turns back to Reginald and his master.

"You two had best follow me. We have a lot to discuss."

* * *

><p>The villager pulls a chair from against the wall, and sits down at the table across from the young man.<p>

"So, do you know where those pages go or what they're for?"

The man shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm afraid I've actually got no clue. I do know that pages 217 and 218 have information on artifacts called command blocks - in fact, I've used the pages before myself to make some."

"Mm. And which pages do you have? Just the odd numbers, of course."

"31, 123, 167, 201, 217, and 303."

"Hm. And you don't know about the book you're looking for, right?"

The masked man pulls a page out of his pocket, unfolds it, and holds it up to the torchlight. "Well, I'd say it's a fairly large book, probably at least 320 pages in size, rather old, and detailing various forms of magic, science, and the combinations of the two. Other than that, I haven't the faintest idea where these papers go."

"Ah - then I should probably start from the beginning. The compendium you're searching for is known as the Arcana."

The man frowns, his brow furrowed. "Doesn't that just literally mean 'secrets?'"

"Yes, actually. The Arcana is essentially a collection of secrets and mysteries, just like the term implies. More importantly, however, there's a myth that, if all the pages are joined, a special section of the book will be created that holds incredibly powerful spells and the like."

"So it's a magical spellbook."

The villager smiles. "That's quite a good way of putting it."

"Do you know where we could find the owner of the book? I'd like to return these pages."

The villager falls silent and looks away. "I-I'm afraid I don't."

Reginald snorts. "He's lying," the zombie grunts.

"I agree with Reginald. You do know, don't you?"

The villager rubs his temples with a groan. "I really don't wish to say."

"Is she a friend of yours, then?" The masked man asks the question innocently.

"Y-yes, he and I have been good friends for- oh."

The man smiles. "Gotcha."

The villager puts his head in his hands with an exasperated sigh, then looks up.

"All right, fine. I'll tell you where he likely is. About a week ago, he entered the town and left that night for that mountain over there. The two next days I observed him climbing the cliff with his bare hands, which isn't like him. To be frank, I'm not sure if he's in his right mind, and he's never been the most stable."

The villager pauses and crosses to a chest in the corner, from which he takes a small cloth bag and two pieces of paper.

"Here are my pages of the Arcana - 25 and 9 - and a gift. If you find him, tell him Ed sent you."

"Ed, huh?" The young man sniffs the bag. "Hey, this is coffee!"

Ed nods. "Exactly. He mentioned it a lot back before he turned, so it might-"

"Woah, woah, woah. He turned?"

Ed groans and covers his face with his hands again. "I didn't mean to let that slip..."

"We're delivering coffee to a zombie."

The villager shakes his head. "No, no. He's not a zombie. In fact, he's likely still quite human."

Reginald elbows the masked man and grunts. "We're not getting more."

"You're probably right," he whispers back.

"All right, Ed, thanks. How long should the climb take?"

The villager shrugged. "About half a day to the mountain. You can cut down on your time if you have a pickaxe and shovel, so you should be able to reach him."

"All right."

Without any more words said, the young man and zombie exit, blades drawn. The man nods to Ed one last time.

"Thanks for the help."

* * *

><p><em><strong>((Here's our other main character! Again, try and guess who he is and you might win... a thing! (I still haven't decided what, though<strong>**)**_

_**((Please review and tell me what you think as well**_


	3. Several Hours Later

When the masked man finally reaches the mountain, it's mid-day and the sun is shining annoyingly brightly, glaring off the smooth stone surface of the mountain and blinding him. He groans, shielding his eyes from the brightness.

"Man, Ed implied it'd be steep, but I didn't expect a sheer cliff..."

Reginald nods in agreement, then readjusts his gold helmet. "He lied."

The young man lets out a small burst of amusement. "No, he understated it. There's a difference."

The zombie turns to stare at his friend evenly, a look of concern on his face. "He lied - or left out - at least one thing. Like why he was gated into the cemetery in the first place."

The man frowns back, eyes narrowed behind his mask. "Reginald, sometimes I could swear you're more intelligent than you let on."

The undead man just shrugs. "So?"

Suddenly, a clacking noise like a door repeatedly opening and shutting echoes in the distance, startling the pair.

"Hey! You two!"

There, bouncing towards them, is a single chest. An actual, oaken chest, but with two eyes and a mouth etched into it in a rather cartoony manner..

The masked man jumps back. "What in the world are you?"

The chest stops and glares at the masked man, clearly annoyed. "I'm a Traveling Chest. My name's C.O.R.E., and you, sir, are not very nice. There's a zombie behind you, but the way."

"I know. His name's Reginald. We're good friends."

C.O.R.E. rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Sure, until he decides to backstab you. Mobs do that."

Reginald glares at the chest. "You're not very nice, either."

"Woah, hang on. Did your pet zombie just speak?"

The masked man groans. "_He's _intelligent, _I'm _a Speaker, and _you_ need to explain your motives now."

"I'm trying to reach my friend at the top of this mountain, thanks. The idiot's not gone far away enough that I can teleport to him."

"Seems far enough," the zombie grunts.

"That's where you'd be wrong. Vertical distance doesn't count in terms of where I can port."

"Well, maybe we can take you to him, then!" The man's reddish-brown eyes light up excitedly.

"Hold up," the chest responds, glaring at the man again. "I don't even know your name, and if you pose a threat to my friend - which most people do - we can't go with that."

"He's got a point," Reginald grunts.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with the zombie," C.O.R.E. notes. "You're suspicious-looking. Tattoos, weird pendant and mask, et cetera. And my friend doesn't do so well with cultists."

The masked man sputters in surprise. "A what? Did you seriously just call me a... cultist?"

The zombie steps forwards and looks down at C.O.R.E., striking a rather intimidating pose in the process. "I've traveled with this man for a good while now. He's no cultist, nor does he mean your friend harm. You'll believe this, or we're not taking you up the mountain with us."

The chest blinks, then hops back and looks at the masked man with a dumbfounded stare. "You sure this man's a zombie?"

He nods. "Reginald is very definitely undead."

Reginald nods his assent, then shields his eyes and looks up at the sky.

"We'd better climb."

C.O.R.E., however, hops in front of the pair instead. "All right, I get it. No names yet. But you're going to have to tell me what you want with my friend before you get anywhere near that mountain."

The masked man sighs. "We... have a few pages of the Arcana. We've been trying to return them."

"How do I know you won't just kill him and take the book?" the chest snaps, glaring at the pair once more.

The masked man takes out the small, pungent satchel and holds it up with a sheepish grin.

"Would we bring coffee to someone we were planning to murder?"

"...You met Ed," C.O.R.E. responds bluntly. "I suppose if he trusts you..."

"...We can't be all that bad?" the man finishes hopefully.

"You could be very bad indeed. But you don't mean him harm," comes the grim response.

* * *

><p><em><strong>((This one's a bit short. Sorry!))<strong>_


	4. Demeo

Rain splatters harshly against the loose clay cliffside, sending waves of muck down towards the bottom. However, in a small, hastily dug alcove, a man with shredded jeans and a large book sits, watching the downpour.

"Bax, do you think the rain'll ever let up?" he asks, voice slightly hoarse.

"I doubt it," is the response. The man sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, a nervous tic which he's grown quite used to.

"Have I eaten today?"

A sound much like a derisive snort emanates from the rusted blade. "Not if I know you, you haven't."

"Mm." The man frowns and takes a glass phial out of his pocket, one filled with the same red substance as the other two he held before it. "I've only got five or so of these left, and then I'll have to..."

"...Don't. Just don't think about it," the weapon advises.

The man pops the cork off, pinches his nose, and drinks the liquid down as quickly as possible, trying to avoid tasting it.

"Eurgh."

"You're telling me," Bax mutters darkly.

With another deep sigh, the man turns to look down below at the cliff face. "Do you think C.O.R.E.'s all right?"

"I'm sure of it. He's practically invincible, remember?"

The man nods. "True, he- hang on."

He squints down at the sheer drop, then backs up.

"_Someone's climbing the cliff,_" he whispers, voice low and panicked.

"That's impossible. Isn't it raining? Isn't this whole place clay?"

The man shakes his head. "T-there's someone down there. He's wearing a mask, and he's got a bunch of spiral tattoos on him."

Bax can't frown, being a sword, but the sound he makes definitely approximates one. "What do they look like?"

"Hang on..." Pages rustle as the man leafs through the Arcana in search of something. "...Oh, dear God."

"What?"

"We're dealing with someone tough here. Those are all wardmarks, mostly ones against evil, but the ones on his right arm..."

"Stop being dramatic and just tell us how dead we are," Bax mutters grumpily.

"...I think they're eldritch wards."

The rusted blade whistles. "Cultist?"

"Likely. A Speaker too - look, there's a zombie with him."

Bax groans. "We're dead meat."

The man stands up, eyes glinting, the dark circles under his eyes suddenly very intimidating. "He's not the only one to be scared of, Bax."

"You can't just-"

"Bax, don't you remember?" He smiles weakly, clutching the rusted blade with a rather practiced grip. "I was deadly _before_ I turned."

"You're cocky, too," the blade grumbles. "But this sword's not going to last for much longer."

The man frowns. "True, but I've got a plan."

"What plan?"

With a flourish, the man stabs the sword upwards into a large overhang.

"_This isn't a plan_!" Bax snaps.

"It's half of one," the man responds, then pulls the blade back out.

The clay, already loosened by the constant rain and now loosened by the man's stab, crumbles, and a large portion of the cliffside falls down straight towards the masked climber.

"And _that's _the other half," the man finishes triumphantly.

He frowns, then looks down towards where the climber has fallen, clearly hurt if not dead.

"Is that... C.O.R.E.?"

"Of course it is," Bax grumbles.

"Goddanged cultist must have been holding him hostage. I'm going down there."

"What?"

"I need to restock my, er... supplies, remember?"

"You're disgusting," the weapon responds in an annoyed tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry, would you rather I feed off of live animals or a dead man?"

"Point taken."

The man flips through the Arcana again, then flicks a page with a smile. "Found it."

"**Demeo**."

The man steps off the ledge and, instead of falling, slowly glides down until he's reached the point where the masked man fell.

"Well, he looks pretty dead," he mutters, then tilts his head to the side and looks closer at the body. "His finger's bleeding - better get that."

With a soft sigh, the man pulls out an empty phial and lets the masked man's blood drip into the container, carefully angling it so that not a drop is spilled.

The masked man groans and shifts slightly, and in response the other man jumps back slightly.

"Oh! Crap, he's not dead?"

"_Zombie_!" Bax yells, shocking the man further. He turns around to find the mob that'd been traveling with the masked person glaring at him, a golden helmet cocked loosely over its head.

"En garde!" the man yells, then draws his sword. In response, the gold-helmed zombie unhooks a gold shovel from its belt and levels it at the man.

The man laughs. "You can't fight me with a shovel, you'd-"

The zombie lunges forward, its dead eyes glittering with rage, and the man smacks aside the shovel with his blade.

As the zombie continues to attack, the man finds himself being backed slowly but surely along the cliffside.

"I am not... going... to lose... to a _monster_!" he snaps, desperately parrying the fierce attacks. Still, he continues getting backed towards the end of the ledge.

Just when he's realized that the mob matches his talent at swordplay, he trips over something roughly cubic and falls onto his back, groaning. The man tries to push himself up off the ground, only to be pushed back down by the surprisingly sharp blade of the shovel.

He glares up at the zombie, then grabs the shaft of the shovel and clears his throat.

"**Ur**-"

"_Cut it out_!" a familiar voice snaps. The object he tripped over turns around, and the man waves weakly.

"Hey, C.O.R.E. - mind pushing this zombie off a cliff or something?"

The chest glares at him. "We were _trying_ to help you."

"Really? Because this danged mob looks like it's trying to kill me, from what I can tell."

"You nearly killed his friend," C.O.R.E. responds bluntly.

"...Oops?" The man groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Okay, yeah. I screwed up."

"Darn right you did," the chest grumbles.

The zombie mutters something to the chest, something the man can't understand, and C.O.R.E. blinks.

"No, you _cannot_ kill him. That's the friend I told you about."

The zombie snorts, then reattaches the shovel to its belt and backs up enough that the man can stand.

He does so, tentatively standing and sheathing his blade again.

"...Sorry about that. I've... been on edge. A lot of the time people that see me try to kill me."

The zombie makes a sound that resembles an annoyed sigh, then walks over to the masked man and gently picks him up without a single bit of hesitation or apparent effort.

"Where are we going to stay?" C.O.R.E. asks in a calm tone.

"There's an alcove here, and the walls are clay. We could probably make quick work of it with that zombie's shovel."

The zombie glares at the man again, then nods down to his belt. The man tentatively approaches, takes the golden shovel, then hefts it once.

"Right this way."

* * *

><p><em><strong>((Two updates in one day? It's a 2015 miracle!<strong>_

_**((Alright, that small dig at my notorious tendency to procrastinate updating aside, name reveals are coming next chapter, so make sure you get your guesses in now.**_

_**((And please review, friends! (seriously though do it I dare you)**_


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